


ensnared

by nezstorm



Series: sharing voices [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canonical Character Death, Child Stiles, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Orphan Stiles, Powerful Stiles Stilinski, Young Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 18:39:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13440861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/pseuds/nezstorm
Summary: It makes him vulnerable and Peter uses that to snatch him away from the world and make himself a fixture in Stiles’ life. He plants a seed of trust, of dependency, things that’ll make him indispensable.





	ensnared

**Author's Note:**

> i can't seem to get this right. why do i even keep writing these two?

Taking Stiles in brings up a lot of memories Peter has spent years burying as deep inside as possible. He can’t be dispassionate about it, couldn’t be if he tried, even if Stiles is still recovering from murdering the hunters that killed his mother. 

 

The boy is only just beginning to truly mourn, having spent the first few weeks after his mother’s death seeking revenge. Stiles is a stubborn, relentless little thing, but some things can’t be put on the backburner forever. Grief being one of them.

 

It makes him vulnerable and Peter uses that to snatch him away from the world and make himself a fixture in Stiles’ life. He plants a seed of trust, of dependency, things that’ll make him indispensable. 

 

It’s easy enough to do with Stiles so pliable and numb those first few weeks after their first meeting. All it takes is to be there, give the boy room to breathe and a routine that’s easy enough to follow: getting him out of bed at the same time every day, putting food in front of him even if he mostly stares at it blankly, leading him to the bathroom so he might shower, carting him off to bed at 9 pm everyday even if the boy will trash and turn in bed. Waking him from the nightmares and offering silent comfort. Slowly pushing him to do a little more.

 

It’s a tedious and drawn out process especially since Stiles just lets him do it all. A little bit like having a doll. And as much as Peter has wanted the boy so he could use his power for his own gain, he wants to see the fire the flickers of which he’s seen come back, for the boy to be more energetic, more intent on life.

 

He doesn’t plan on it, but he breaks the routine he’s established for Stiles on an otherwise bland Tuesday. 

 

He’s been trying to formalize the fact that Stiles will be living with him under his care, bribing and threatening who he could. He’s researched enough to know that Stiles’ father died in line of duty when Stiles was four and he had no other family than his mother. There was no one out there who would even look for the boy, but still, it was safer to be a distant cousin than just suddenly acquire a strange child no one else in town has ever seen. 

 

What it also means is that he has to meet one of his contacts to get all the paperwork and he’d rather not have Stiles with him, just in case.

 

So, one Tuesday morning, he wakes Stiles up an hour earlier than usual, offers toast and eggs for breakfast because the milk went bad and he didn’t have time to go and buy more, and tells the boy he has to stay home alone for a few hours while Peter deals with some things.

 

Stiles stares moodily at his plate and doesn’t even grunt in acknowledgement, which isn’t actually that different from the norm.

 

Peter squeezes his shoulder, a there and gone touch, the way he’s been scent marking Stiles for days, and locks the door as he leaves.

 

Peter may have been trying to make Stiles rely on him, but in the process he might have gotten attached himself.

 

He doesn’t exactly rush through the proceedings, but he doesn’t linger more than he has to. He should do some grocery shopping while he’s out, but he’s already running late for lunch and his wolf is anxious to get home. 

 

And rightly so.

 

His kitchen isn’t demolished per se, but all but the cabinets attached to the walls are flying in a circle at varying speed. There’s glasses and knives, mugs, spoons, even Peter’s coffee machine, all floating around the table which - strangely enough - is still firmly on the ground, Stiles’ breakfast scattered on top. The boy in question hiding beneath, heart beating wildly and his scent sharp and sour with fear. 

 

Peter stands at the edge of the kitchen and wonders on the best course of action. He really likes his kitchen, he doesn’t want it to explode. 

 

“Stiles? Stiles, are you okay?” he asks, but the boy doesn’t even look up, face pressed firmly against his bent up knees.

 

“Stiles, can I approach you?” Again, no reaction. 

 

Peter huffs and stakes a careful step inside, he watches for any sharp and heavy object that might be heading his way, but it all seems to be floating higher all of a sudden. He takes another few slow steps and when nothing changes, he closes the distance between him and Stiles and crouches right next to the table.

 

“Darling, what’s wrong?” the endearment slips out on its own, but curiously enough it makes Stiles’ scent briefly spike with something sweet. Taking a chance, Peter reaches out and touches Stiles’ knee, and when that doesn’t garner a negative reaction, the top of his head.

 

Peter cards his fingers through Stiles’ hair gently for a few minutes, listening to Stiles’ heart slowly calm, utensils and plates drifting down to the floor.

 

When nothing in Peter’s kitchen is floating anymore, he puts his hands under Stiles’ armpits and gently pulls him out from under the table. He gets up from the floor and sits down in a chair, pulling the boy onto his lap and only wincing a little when he feels the spoon he’s sitting on.

 

Stiles doesn’t exactly cling to him, but he presses close letting Peter bear all of his weight.

 

“What brought this on?” Peter prompts, he looks to the table and the eggs smeared all over, “Don’t you like eggs?” 

 

“They were runny. I don’t like runny eggs,” Stiles mumbles. 

 

“That’s no reason to throw them around and levitate the whole kitchen,” Peter scolds gently.

 

“I tried to tell you, but you weren’t here and-” Stiles presses his face into Peter’s chest, his little body shaking as he tries to stop himself from crying even though Peter can smell the salt in the air.

 

Peter rubs Stiles’ back in a slow, soothing motion. “Shh, darling. I’m here. I told you I would be gone for a few hours.”

 

“You were late,” Stiles hiccups.

 

Peter considers telling Stiles why he was out in the first place, that he paid and bribed his way into being Stiles’ guardian. But it’s too soon for that, the boy too vulnerable still.

 

“I’m sorry, darling” he says instead, rocking them both from side to side, “I’m sorry. I’ll take you with me next time,” he promises, feels little hands bunching up his shirt and holding close. 


End file.
